MEMORIAL 



REV. PITT CLARKE, 

PASTOR OF THE 

FIRST CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH IN NORTON, MASS.; 

AND OF 

MARY JONES, CLARKE, 

■ (HIS WIFE.) 



PRINTED FOR PRIl'ATE DISTRIBUTION 



CAMBRIDGE: 
PRESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON. 
1866. 



3^ 



lit* 



MEMOIR, AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 

AND 

CONFESSION OF FAITH 

OF 

REV. PITT CLARKE. 



' When Faith and Love, which parted from thee never, 
Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God, 
Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load 
Of Death, called Life." — Milton. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

Preface to Memoir of Rev. Pitt Clarke 9 

Memoir of Rev. Pitt Clarke 11 

Autobiography of Rev. Pitt Clarke 19 

Confession of Faith ; or, A Pastor's Legacy 27 

Preface to Memoir of Mary Jones Clarke 41 

Memoir of Mary Jones Clarke -43 

Poems by Mary Jones Clarke 49 



PREFACE. 



THE following sketch of the Rev. Pitt Clarke was 
written by his son, Manlius Stimson Clarke, Esq. It 
appeared originally in the Rev. S. H. Emery's History of the 
Ministry of Taunton, a town which formerly included Norton 
within its corporate limits. Not long after this sketch was 
written, the author of it joined his father in the world beyond 
the grave. He was a worthy son of the good and pious 
man, whose life he had portrayed, and whose Christian vir- 
tues he emulated. He died in the prime of life, and in the 
midst of a most useful and honorable career. 

In Mr. Clarke's diary, which is alluded to in the follow- 
ing pages, there is a brief Autobiography. It appears 
from the date of the Autobiography, that it was written Jan. 
15, 1832, the birthday of his seventieth year. Many of the 
incidents which it relates are, of course, to be found in 
the Memoir by his son; but its intrinsic value and touching 



IO 



Preface. 



simplicity are such as to render any memorial of Mr. Clarke 
incomplete, which does not contain it. 

The Confession of Faith which follows the Autobiography 
was found among Mr. Clarke's manuscripts after his decease. 
It is evident from its perusal, that it was intended for a new- 
year's gift to his parish. It was afterwards published by his 
family, and distributed among his parishioners. The expo- 
sition which it contains of his views of the Christian faith 
and the Christian's duty renders it interesting and valuable to 
all who cherish his memory. 

The Confession of Faith, the Autobiography, and the 
Memoir, are brought together, in this volume, in a more 
permanent form than they have hitherto received. They 
possess a peculiar interest for his family. Here they are 
dedicated to his memory, — to the memory of one who was 
a loved and revered father, a faithful pastor, and a devout 
Christian. 



EDWARD H. CLARKE. 



Arlington Street, Boston, 
November, 1866. 




MEMOIR 

OF 

REV. PITT CLARKE. 



EV. PITT CLARKE (or Clark, as the name was 



jl V formerly written), long known as the Pastor of the 
First Congregational Parish in Norton, Mass., was born 
at Meclfield, in the same State, Jan. 15, 1763. His father, 
Jacob Clark, was one of three brothers, whose grandfather 
came from England, and settled in the north of Wren- 
tham. His own grandfather removed to Medneld, and 
purchased a farm, where some of the descendants of the 
family still remain. Pitt was one of a family of seven chil- 
dren, for whom the tilling of the soil in a retired New-Eng- 
land village, with constant and severe economy, afforded 
sufficient but not abundant means of support. In his 
mother, whose maiden name was Meletiah Hammond, were 
united an intense religious sensibilitv, a deep and almost 




I 2 



Memoir of Rev. Pitt Clarke. 



painful feeling of personal responsibility, and a naturally 
nervous temperament. These all prompted her, early and 
earnestly, to instil into the minds and hearts of her children 
a pious reverence towards God, a sense of the great impor- 
tance of religious interests, and daily habits of devotion, to 
which, more than to any other outward cause, may be at- 
tributed the early determination of this one of her sons to 
devote himself to the sacred office. An early fondness for 
the acquisition of knowledge, and a desire to increase his 
fitness for that high post of duty, led Mr. Clarke to covet 
eagerly the advantages of a public education. These, how- 
ever, the straightened circumstances of his family could not 
readily command, and made it manifest, that, if acquired at 
all, they must be by his own exertions. Various circum- 
stances conspired to postpone to a comparatively late period 
any opportunity to accomplish these wishes. His daily 
services were required upon the farm; public and private 
interests were disturbed by the War of Independence; he 
himself was at one time called upon to join the militia ol 
his native town, in a sudden expedition to defend the State 
against a threatened invasion of the British, by the way 
of Rhode Island; the destruction of his father's house and 
furniture by fire (a circumstance of no small moment to a 
family so situated) all united to frustrate his early endeavors 
to obtain an education. Soon after the close of the Revolu- 
tion, however, having by industry and great frugality gath- 
ered together a portion of the requisite funds, he applied 



Memoir of Rev. Pitt Clarke. 



13 



himself with renewed earnestness to the studies preparatory 
for entering college. These he pursued by the aid. and 
under the direction, of the late Hannah Adams, a name 
widely known in the literature of New England. From her 
faithful training he passed, with credit, into Harvard Univer- 
sity, in July. 17S6. at the age of twenty-three years. His 
mind, naturally vigorous and inquisitive, inclined him more 
particularly to scientific and classical studies ;- in these, and 
especially in the mathematics, his scholarship was sound, 
and much beyond that usually attained by the graduates of 
his day. 

He received the honors of the University in 1790. but 
was compelled to devote his first exertions to replenish- 
ing the slender capital he had expended for his education, 
by the emolument of teaching. For two years he took 
charge of the town school in Cambridge 5 at the same time, 
he devoted all the leisure he could command from this duty 
to the pursuit of his theological studies, and in April. 1792, 
was examined, and duly approbated to preach, by the Cam- 
bridge Association of ministers. After occasional services in 
neighboring parishes, in August of that year he relinquished 
his school, and accepted an invitation to preach for the first 
Congregational society in Norton, whose pulpit had been 
recently made vacant by the death of the Rev. Joseph 
Palmer. This was the first place of his preaching as a can- 
didate: and, though the desk had been previously occupied 
by several others since Mr. Palmer's decease, such was the 



Memoir of Rev. Pitt Clarke. 



favor with which his labors were received, that, after preach- 
ing only four sabbaths, he received from the church an 
invitation to become their pastor. This call was sudden and 
unexpected to him, and, following upon so recent an acquaint- 
ance, did not command the unanimous assent of the parish, 
though seconded by a decided majority in the church. He 
did not immediately accept it, but, with that cautious judg- 
ment for which he was ever distinguished, proposed a tem- 
porary arrangement, by which he continued to supply their 
pulpit during the following winter and spring; thus securing 
to himself and the parish an opportunity for more mature 
deliberation, before entering upon an engagement, which 
was then regarded as terminating only with life. A better 
acquaintance on the part of the parish served only to increase 
the confidence his first coming had inspired, and resulted in 
a renewed and more decided invitation, from church and 
parish, to make the connection a permanent one. This invi- 
tation he accepted, and he was accordingly ordained July 3, 
1 793, — the services of the occasion being principally per- 
formed by the Rev. Thomas Prentiss, of Medhelcl, who 
preached the sermon; Rev. Jacob Cushing, of Waltham, 
who gave the charge; Rev. Roland Green, of Mansfield, who 
gave the right hand of fellowship. 

" A solemn day to me ! " says the pastor, in a short auto- 
biographical notice found among his papers after his decease. 
" My deepest impression was, that I was insufficient for these 
things. I felt the force of that passage, 'I know not how to 



Memoir of Rev. Pitt Clarke. 



15 



go out or come in before this people." and made it the sub- 
ject of my first discourse after ordination." 

This, his first field of earthly labor, proved to be the only 
one in which he was to work. For two and forty years the 
connection thus formed continued unbroken, and was then 
broken only by the hand of death. So many years of his 
early life, spent by Mr. Clarke in the healthy exercise of the 
farm, his constitution of great natural strength and vigor, and 
his simple habits of living, to which he always adhered, all 
combined to secure to him a life of uninterrupted health and 
strength, and enabled him, with a constancy and certainty 
rarely equalled, to meet the various and constantly returning 
duties of his office. Rarely, if ever, was he known, from any 
cause, to be absent from the desk on the sabbath, from the 
bedside of the sick and dying, the house of mourning, or anv 
other station to which duty called, during all the years of 
his lengthened ministry. He was remarkable for his habits 
of industry, regularity, and order: always an early riser, the 
first hours of the morning found him uniformly at his work; 
and many of his discourses were prepared during the earliest 
hours of days, largely occupied by the labors of the farm. 
He continued, during all his life, to supply the deficiencies 
of an inadequate salary, by partaking, in common with many 
of his parishioners, of the toils of the husbandman, with 
which his early training made him familiar. 

His whole character, as a man and a minister, was not 
only above reproach or question, but was in every respect 



Memoir of Rev. Pitt Clarke. 



faithful and exemplary. Among his clerical brethren he was 
widely respected for his sound judgment and wise counsel, 
and was frequently called to assist or preside at their delib- 
erations. He took a hearty and efficient interest in the 
cause of education, devoting much of his time and attention 
to the care of the common schools in his parish. He ren- 
dered important service, for many years, as a member of the 
Board of Trustees of the Bristol Academy, in Taunton, and, 
in 1827, became a life-member of the American Education 
Society. 

He possessed largely the confidence of his people, and his 
counsel and advice were often sought by them in matters of 
private and personal concern. Among them he w r as loved 
and esteemed, as possessing, in an unusual degree, that quiet 
evenness of temper, that daily serenity of life, and calmness 
of judgment, under all circumstances, which must ever form 
the most trustworthy elements of character. In him, these 
qualities so constituted the texture of his daily life, that those 
who knew him best and saw him oftenest, rarely, if ever, 
saw them in any degree disturbed or shaken. 

These characteristics appeared in his public ministrations, 
and gave to them a quiet and simple earnestness, accompa- 
nied by a directness of appeal and application, which ren- 
dered them profitable to the people of his charge, and made 
him an acceptable preacher in all the neighboring pulpits. 

Mr. Clarke continued always to enjoy the confidence of 
the University w r here he was educated, and his house was 



often selected by its government as the temporary residence 
of those whose immediate connection with the College was, 
from any cause, interrupted ; and many passed from his care- 
ful hands to the walls of the University. 

In the constant but unobtrusive duties of his parish, the 
forty-two years of his life and his ministry passed away. It 
appears from the entries in a diary, kept during the last 
twelve years of his life, and found among his papers after his 
decease, that a sense of the importance of his duties, and of 
the obligation to fidelity imposed by his office, deepened as 
he saw himself approaching the end of his earthly ministry. 
Though his health and strength failed not, still with each 
year he seemed more fully to realize that only a few more 
years remained to him here. 

The last entry made in his diary, under date of Jan. i, 
1835, though ne was tnen ^ n perfect health, closes with these 
words: '"The days of my years teach me that the solemn test 
of my character is at hand ; that eternity is at my door ; 
that there is but a step between me and death. " This step 
was shorter even than he anticipated. A short but severe ill- 
ness, of only eleven days' duration, arrested him in the midst 
of his active duties, and suffered only a single sabbath to 
pass between the one which witnessed his last ministrations 
to his own people and that on which they were summoned to 
mourn at his funeral. He died Feb. 13, 1835, at the age of 
seventy-two; meeting the end in a sustained and serene 
faith, as bein^ but the beginning of the better life. One of 

3 



i8 



Memoir of Rev. Pitt Clarke. 



his clerical brethren,** who visited him frequently during his 
sickness, spoke of this dying scene in these words: — 

" I testify (and I bless God for the privilege of so testify- 
ing), that often as I have stood by the bed of mortal sick- 
ness, and prayed and watched and wept as one and another 
of the spirits of flesh were quitting their tenements of clay, 
never have I beheld a death-bed scene more sublimely edify- 
ing, more Christianly serene, sustained, and consoling, than 
that of the aged servant of Christ who sleeps in death before 
us. Truly his latter end was peace. He knew in whom he 
believed, and ' endured, as seeing Him who is invisible.' 
The Being whom he served, shed down into his soul the 
gladsome tokens of his presence. Supports he experienced 
which the world could not give, which flesh and sense were 
incapable of administering, but which death itself could not 
take away. ' My heart is fixed,' he exultingly exclaimed, — 
4 My heart is fixed, trusting, O Lord ! in thee. I am now 
ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand. 
Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.' And he sunk 
from life to rest in peace, and sleep in the ' blessed hope.' " 



* Rev. Andrew Bigelow, D.D., then minister in Taunton, who preached in Nor- 
ton on Lord's Day, Feb. 15, 1835, a sermon at the funeral of Mr. Clarke, which was 
afterwards published. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

OF 

REV. PITT CLARKE. 



JAN. 15. — As I have arrived so near threescore years 
and ten, — the common age of man, fixed by my Maker, 
— I am moved to leave behind me a short memoir of my 
life. I dare not neglect it any longer, for fear of death, — I 
am so near the boundary of human existence. I am not led 
to do this from the impression that any thing in my life will 
be worthy of notice, but from a desire to bequeath to my 
children a brief memorial of their humble origin. 

I was born in Medfield, Jan. 15, 1763. My father's name 
was Jacob. He had nothing to recommend him beyond the 
reputation of being an honest man, an industrious farmer, 
and practical Christian. He was one of three brothers, 
whose grandfather came from England, and settled in the 
north ofWrentham, which was then comparatively a wilder- 



20 



Autobiography of Rev. Pitt Clarke. 



ness. My grandfather came to Medfleld, and purchased a 
farm in the south part of that town by his own industry. 

He had three sons and three daughters. He gave his 
sons the names of Nathan, Jacob, and David, from a kind of 
veneration for those scriptural characters. They all bore the 
name of being honest, industrious, and devout. There ever 
appeared to me to be a perfect harmony and endearing inter- 
course between them. My mother's name was originally 
Meletiah Ilammant; which, rightly spelt, is Hammond. 
Her predecessors bore the same reputation with my father. 
She was my father's second wife. 

My mother was • of a different texture from my father. 
He was naturally cheerful and social. She was oi a feeble, 
gloomy, nervous make, and pious almost to superstition. At 
times, she was so fearful of not living up to that profession of 
religion which she early made, as to sink almost into despair. 
This was owing to a great diffidence of herself, united with 
ho- nervous affections. She was not only pious in mind, but 
devout in practice. 

She alway r s set a good example before her children, who 
were three sons and four daughters. She instilled into their 
minds, when very young, the first principles of religion; and 
expressed the greatest concern in giving them pious feelings. 
I feel much indebted to my parents for my early dedication 
to God in baptism, and my early habits of attention to reli- 
gious institutions. Especially I feel many obligations to my 
mother lor the many early religious impressions I received 



Autobiography of Rev. Pitt Clarke. 



from her pious example. I often witnessed, when a small 
child, her secret prayers, and. when unobserved by her. 
would sink [down] in the spirit of mental and private devo- 
tion. This led me into early habits of calling upon God 
morning and evening, and of committing to memory a 
variety of prayers to assist my devotions. This habit of 
secret prayer never entirely forsook me : though. I acknowl- 
edge with shame. I have not always practised it so con- 
stantly and fervently as I ought. 

My grandfather had an exalted opinion of the great Pitt in 
his mother country, on account of his distinguished pleas for 
American liberty. Out of regard to this eloquent friend of 
America, my grandfather would tell me he gave me my 
name, and flatter me with the idea of going to college. 
How far this operated to raise my ambition for study, when 
a child. I cannot say. I early felt a desire to learn, and was 
ambitious to excel my classmates. When very young, ray 
master told me I must study the Latin, and go to college. 
I obtained the consent of my father to begin the first book 
in Latin when between ten and eleven years old. But I did 
not continue the study of the language longer than the town- 
school continued. This was owing to two causes. One was 
the deranged state of the academies and colleges, on account 
of the Revolutionary War; the other was the embarrassed 
condition of my father. In the first of the Revolution. Bos- 
ton was besieged, and the college entirely broken up. Then 
there was not the least encouragement of obtaining a public 
education. I gave up my studies, went to work on the farm 



22 



Autobiography of Rev. Pitt Clarke. 



at home, and occasionally abroad on wages; laying aside 
what I could against a time of need for an education. When 
old enough to be enrolled in the Militia Bill, I was called to 
go as a soldier on a sudden expedition to Rhode Island. 
The British had taken possession of the island, and were 
directing their devastations towards Massachusetts. The 
alarm came, and the militia were called upon- to meet their 
attacks, and drive them from the island. In this expedition, 
I was every day expecting to meet the enemy in the hottest 
battle; but, just before it came to our turn to fight, the British 
were driven from their stronghold, and evacuated the island. 
I returned home to my father's farm. As soon as the war 
terminated, and the college was restored to its regular state, 
I again entertained the hope of resuming my studies. But 
another circumstance occurred to disappoint me. My father's 
house unfortunately took fire, and was consumed, together 
with nearly all the furniture and fall provisions. It was in 
November, 1779. 

All the little that I had laid aside was destroyed. I felt 
myself stript and naked. But from the calamity I learned 
some of the best lessons. My father, however, was thrown 
into such immediate embarrassment, that I dismissed all 
thoughts of pursuing my studies, and was under the neces- 
sity of returning to hard labor for a few years. When I 
arrived at the age of twenty-one, and felt the liberty of 
acting for myself, I resumed the courage of setting out for 
an education. I had procured a little to begin with by work- 
ing at common wages, which my father gave me: and he 



Autobiography of Rev. Pitt Clarke. 



2 3 



promised to assist me some more, if he should be able; 
though it could be but little. I studied partly at home, and 
partly with Miss Hannah Adams, who lived near by, and to 
whom I recited my lessons. Under her tuition principally. 
I fitted for college, and was admitted into Cambridge Uni- 
versity about a year after I commenced my studies. — July 
22. i-86. 

I had the good fortune of being a member of a large and 
respectable class, many of whom were of the first talent, 
and much the greater part of good characters. Another cir- 
cumstance was much in my favor. The most distinguished 
scholars in my class were, like myself, in limited circum- 
stances, and the most popular. On this account, the best 
part of the class set the example of prudence in expenses; 
and there was no disparagement in it. By receiving help 
from the charitable funds, and teaching schools, I made my 
way through college without much assistance from my 
father. I received the honors of the University, July 21, 
1790. 

Being in debt for my college expenses, I engaged the 
town-school in Cambridge, and continued in it two years; 
at the same time pursuing my theological studies. These 
studies had been my predilection before I entered college, 
and were a leading object of attention through my college 
life. Before I left the school, I was examined by the Cam- 
bridge Association of Ministers, and approbated to preach 
April 17, 1792. I preached occasionally in neighboring- 
towns while I continued in the school; and, before I closed 



2 4 



Autobiography of Rev. Pitt Clarke. 



it, received an application to supply the vacant parish in 
Norton. I commenced preaching in this place as soon as I 
left the school. — the following August. It was the first 
place of my preaching on probation. 

Having preached here only four sabbaths, the church in 
Norton gave me an invitation to settle among them as their 
gospel minister. The invitation was so sudden and unex- 
pected, that I at first felt ready to reject it. It being, how- 
ever, of such a serious nature, I took it into consideration; 
and consented to supplv the pulpit myself, or by proxy, till I 
gave my answer. I found the people much divided. They 
had heard many candidates, and could not unite on any one. 
The opposition to me. at first, was formidable. I could not 
satisfy the minds of those called orthodox. On this account, 
the society postponed their meeting, to concur with the 
church, for several months, on condition I would continue to 
preach with them longer. It bein^ winter, and bad moving 
about, I consented to tarry with them till spring. This gave 
us an opportunity to become acquainted with each other; 
and, upon this farther acquaintance, the opposition in a great 
measure subsided; and there was nearly a unanimous invita- 
tion from church and society for me to become their pastor. 
The union was so great, I could not feel it my duty to give 
a negative answer, although the pecuniary encouragement 
appeared too small. I was ordained July 3, 1793, — a solemn 
day to me. My deepest impression was, that I w r as insuffi- 
cient for these things. I felt the force of that passage, 
1 Kings, iii. 7, " I know not how to go out or come in before 



Autobiography of Rev, Pitt Clarke. 



2 5 



the people." This was the subject of my first discourse after 
ordination. 

Having been ordained about two years. I found the cur- 
rency so much depreciated, that my salary was inadequate to 
my support. This was intimated to individuals, who circu- 
lated the report, that I could not continue with them much 
longer, unless some more pecuniary encouragement should 
be given. In consequence of this alarm, a universal disposi- 
tion was shown to afford me voluntary assistance. From 
this encouragement I purchased a building spot, and about 
twenty acres of land entirely uncleared and unfenced. Bv 
the assistance of my parishioners, part of it was cleared up, 
and a house built, though unfinished. On Feb. i. 1798, I 
was married to Rebecca Jones, the youngest daughter of 
John Jones. Esq.. of Hopkinton. . . . After a long and dis- 
tressing pulmonic consumption, she died March 2, 181 1. 
She continued in the full exercise of her strong mental 
powers to the very last moment of life. I was married the 
second time. Nov. 12. 1812 [to Mary Jones Stimson]. She 
was the daughter of Doctor Jeremy Stimson [of Hopkinton], 
who married an elder sister of my former wife. 

Note. — Mr. Clarke had nine children: viz.. by his first wife. Abigail Morton 
Clarke, wife of the late John J. Stimson. of Providence, R.I. : William Pitt Clarke, 
of Ashland. Mass. : John Jones Clarke, of Roxbury. Mass. : Caroline Clarke, and 
George Leonard Clarke, both of whom died in infancy : by his second wife, George 
Leonard Clarke, of Providence, R.I. : Harriet Clarke, who died in infancy; Manlius 
Stimson Clarke, of Boston, who died in that city at the age of 37 : and Edward 
Hammond Clarke, of Boston. 



4 




" Having prayerfully and diligently searched the Scriptures to obtain a knowledge 
of their truths, I present the following as the summary of my belief in the essential 
truths of the gospel." — Rev. Pitt Clarke. 



CONFESSION OF FAITH ; 

OR, 

A PASTOR'S LEGACY. 
Jan. i, 1835. 



BRETHREN, — With the compliments of the season, I 
present you a new year's gift, which is a small token 
of my affection for you, and designed to imprint on your 
mind a remembrance of me, your pastor. As I approach the 
common age of man, I am moved to leave with you a writ- 
ten testimony of my earnest desire that you may all know 
the truth, and be induced to walk in it. To aid your 
endeavors, I send a printed copy of my views of religion 
into all your families, entreating you to search the Scriptures 
diligently? that you may see their conformity to the word of 
God. 

This I do for your good, and to satisfy the minds of some 
who wish to know more fully my views of certain doctrines. 



28 



A Pastor's Legacy* 



My preaching, say they, docs not sufficiently discriminate 
between Trinitariantsm and [Jnitarianism, Calvinism and 
Arminianism. I readily confess that I have not. assumed 
either of these names, nor dwelt upon these sectarian points. 
In all these human creeds 1 find some good things, and some 
not supported in Scripture* The good 1 treasure up, the bad 
throw away. I profess to be a follower of Christ, and #lory 
in being called a Christian, as his followers were first called 
Christians at Antioch. [ have the example of my Master 
and his immediate followers, not to assume any name but 
Christian, — not to call any one master but Christ. Our 
Saviour was not a sectarian or an exclusionist, in the 
modern sense of these terms. Though he came to his own 
people and joined the Jewish Church, he made no attempt to 
proselyte to their peculiar faith. lie was sent first to the 
lost sheep of the house of Israel; and he endeavored to 
convince them of dangerous errors, and also to enlighten all 
of every name, who would follow him as the Way, the 
Truth, and the Life. When his own people, who were set 
apart as holy unto the Lord, had become so exclusive as to 
have no dealings with the Samaritans on the ground of 
sentiment, he set up the Samaritan as the better man, and 
exhorted them to go and do likewise. Though i rank 
myself under no human leader, nor hold doctrines strictly 
called my own, — professing to believe only the doctrines of 
Christ, — nevertheless, 1 feel it highly important to have a 
firm belief in all the peculiar doctrines of the gospel, and am 



A Pastor s Legacy. 



29 



ready to declare openly what I receive as the doctrines of 
Christ, and as the faith once delivered to the saints. 

I confess that / cannot believe in the peculiar doctrines 
of those called Trinitarians and Calvinists ; for I cannot find 
them in any of our Saviour's preaching. His Sermon on the 
Mount, which contains the sum and the most important 
parts of his religion, says nothing about three co-equal 
persons in the Godhead, — nothing about the five points of 
Calvin. If it were important for us to believe these tenets, 
I am persuaded that our Saviour would have taught them. 
Instead of teaching any of these peculiarities, he clearly 
enforced doctrines of a different complexion. He made 
practical religion the groundwork of his system, saying to 
all who heard his words that they must do the will of their 
heavenly Father in order to rind acceptance with him. He 
plainly taught that the doing of the will of God from the 
heart is the only way to build upon the right foundation. 
Instead of preaching the innate total depravity of little chil- 
dren, he took them into his arms as innocent subjects of his 
kingdom; and, when some forbade them, he said, "Forbid 
them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.'' 

Respecting his union with the Father, he said no man 
knoweth who the Son is but the Father. The highest title 
he claimed was the Son of God, and he owned God to be 
his Father. He declared expressly that there is only one 
God, whom we are to worship, and him only to serve; that 
his mission was from heaven ; that the works which he did 



3° 



A Pastor s Legacy. 



bore witness that he came forth from God; and that he 
derived all his power and authority from the great Jehovah, 
who sanctified and sent him into the world, to do the will of 
his heavenly Father. 

Having prayerfully and diligently searched the Scriptures 
to obtain a knowledge of their truths, I present the following 
as the summary of my belief in the essential truths of the 
gospel. 

I believe that there is one only living and true God, 
the Father, of whom are all things, and we in him; and 
one Lord Jesus Christ, by whom are all things, and we by 
him. 

I believe God to be an infinite Spirit, spreading the ema- 
nations of his being throughout the universe, possessing 
every adorable attribute and perfection, — the only proper 
object of supreme love, adoration, and praise. I believe him 
to be the Creator, Preserver, and Governor of the world; 
and that his government is perfectly just, w r ise, merciful, and 
good. I believe that he is continually within us and around 
us, extending his upholding power and superintending care 
to all beings and all worlds. I believe him to be the Giver 
of every good thing, the Source of all our blessings, and the 
righteous Judge of the world, before whom we must all 
appear to give up our final accounts. 

I believe Jesus Christ to be the Son of God and Saviour of 
the world, possessing the same spirit with the Father. Paul 
says (Col. i. 15), "He is the first-born of every creature." 



A Pastor's Legacy. 



St. John says (Rev. iii. 14), "He is the beginning of the 
creation of God." I believe him to be the promised Mes- 
siah, and only Mediator between God and man. As a 
Mediator, I must view him as a distinct Being from the 
Father; for a mediator is one between two. If the Son be 
not a distinct Being from the Father, we have no Mediator 
nor Intercessor with God. For there is no other name given 
to be our Mediator but the Son. There is not the least inti- 
mation in prophecy that the Father would be the mediator 
between himself and man. A son was to be given, and 
the Son of God came in the fulness of time to be the 
Christ, the anointed of the Lord, to save his people from 
their sins. Jesus of Nazareth assumed this exalted character; 
and, when he was accused of blasphemy for it, he replied, 
" If those are called gods to whom the word of God came, 
sayest thou I blaspheme, because I call myself the Son of 
God?" 

He is declared to be the Son of God with power, by his 
resurrection from the dead. If the Son be the same Being 
as the Father, then God must have died on the cross, and 
his death would have caused the destruction of the uni- 
verse ; for by him all things subsist. We all must and do 
make a distinction between the Father and the Son, when 
we view the latter as born of a virgin, nourished as a child, 
reasoning with the doctors, preaching among men, betrayed 
and crucified, lying dead in the grave, rising from the 
tomb. I believe all this was a reality, not a mere vision, 



3 2 



A Pastors Legacy. 



an appearance of death and a resurrection. I believe that 
the Son of God actually suffered, died, and rose again; but 
the Father dwelt in him, raised him from the dead, and 
did, in and through him, all the wonderful works recorded 
of him in the Scriptures. I believe that in him the word was 
made flesh ; i. e., that the word which was with God in the 
beginning of creation — the same as the energy of God 
speaking worlds into existence was in Christ when he took 
a human body — was thereby in the flesh, and dwelt among 
men. This word was in effect the same as God with us, and, 
by beholding its glory in. Christ, we see the glory of the only 
begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth. But al- 
though God dwelt in his Son, and did the mighty works in 
him, still he gave the Son to have life in himself. This 
Jesus proved to the Jews, by making himself and his Father 
two distinct witnesses. He said, " I am one that bear wit- 
ness of myself, and the Father beareth witness of me." If 
the Father and Son were one and the same Being, then 
Christ would have been a deceiver; for one Being could not 
be two witnesses. 

I must therefore believe Christ to be only the Son of 
God, the brightness and the image of the invisible Jehovah, 
and that in him dwells the fulness of the Godhead bodily, 
and that through him we have access by one spirit unto the 
Father. Him hath God exalted to give repentance and 
remission of sin. By him we receive the atonement, even 
reconciliation with God; for in him, through him, or by him, 



A Pastor s Legacy. 



33 



God is reconciling the world unto himself, not imputing 
unto men their trespasses. 

I believe that God has given unto us eternal life, and that 
this life is in his Son in such a manner that all who yield 
obedience to his commands may enjoy it. I believe that 
God so loved the world as to manifest himself in flesh by 
Jesus Christ, who died and rose again, in order that life and 
immortality might be brought to light, that all mankind 
might be put into a state of salvation, and that every one 
might receive according to the deeds done in the body. 

I believe that Christ came to make known the offers of 
salvation, and that he gave himself for us that he might 
redeem us from all iniquity, and purify us unto himself, a 
peculiar people, zealous of good works. I believe that he 
is able and willing to save all who come unto God by him, 
and that there is none other name under heaven given among 
men whereby we must be saved. I believe that God has 
exalted his Son to an equality with himself in the work of 
redemption, and given him a name above every name, that 
at the name of Jesus every knee should bow and every 
tongue confess him to be Lord, to the glory of God, the 
Father. By loving and honoring; the Son, we love and honor 

JO O ' 

the Father also. By receiving and walking with the Son, we 
receive and walk with the Father; for in both there is the 
same spirit, and they are co-workers in procuring the sal- 
vation of the soul. In this work, they are one; and Christ 
prayed that his followers might be one in the same spirit 

5 



34 



A Pastor's Legacy, 



and temper, in the same design and pursuit. " Neither 
pray I for these alone, but for them also which shall believe 
on me through their word, that they all may be one, as thou, 
Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one in 
us, that the world may believe that thou hast sent me. And 
the glory which thou gavest me, I have given them, that they 
maybe one, even as we are one" (John xvii. 20-22). In 
the same sense, he that planteth and he that watereth are 
one; and God giveth the increase. 

I believe in the agency of the Holy Spirit, which is the 
spirit of God, working in the heart, convincing, restraining, 
and constraining; producing every thing that is good, giving 
efficacy to means in regeneration and conversion. I believe 
and baptize in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of 
the Holy Ghost: in devout acknowledgment of God, the 
Father of all; of Jesus Christ, the Son of God; and of the 
Holy Spirit, the inward Comforter and support of his 
people. 

I believe in the necessity of a new birth, or a change of 
heart; for the natural birth gives no idea of God, or 
of eternity. That which is born of the flesh, is flesh, and 
sees and enjoys only fleshly gratifications. Children, though 
born innocent, are destitute of holiness, till they are capable 
of right affections. When the eyes of their mind are opened 
to see God and eternity, and the affections of their heart are 
placed on things above, then the new birth takes place. A 
new and spiritual world is opened to the view, the affec- 



A Pastor's Legacy. 



35 



tions are raised from earthly to heavenly objects, and the 
whole man is brought into new and higher relations. I 
believe that this change of heart consists in a change of 
affections from sensual to spiritual enjoyments, from sin to 
holiness, from things seen and temporal to things unseen 
and eternal. If children grow up without any good instruc- 
tion, or without setting their affections on things above as 
they are taught, and follow only the gratifications of the 
flesh, then, in order to enjoy God, they must become new 
creatures by putting off their old man, which is corrupt 
according to deceitful lusts, and by putting on the new man, 
which, after God, is created in righteousness and true holiness. 
I believe that this happy change is to be brought about 
through the instrumentality of God's word, blessed and 
sanctified by his Holy Spirit. We are born again, not of 
corruptible seed, but of incorruptible, by the word of God, 
which lives for ever. A Paul may plant, but God must give 
the increase. 

I believe that this change is to be known by the fruits of 
it, which are good works. He who does righteousness is 
born of God. By this shall all men know that ye are my 
disciples, says Christ, if ye have love one to another. For 
love is the best evidence of a good heart. I do not believe 
in those conversions which make men more censorious and 
uncharitable. Genuine conversions make better hearts, 
tempers, and lives; better parents, children, neighbors, and 
citizens. Such conversions cause their subjects to become 



36 



A Pastor's Legacy. 



more upright, humble, and peaceable; more charitable 
towards those who differ in opinion; more willing to co- 
operate with all good people in promoting practical piety. 
I believe that sudden conversions are not so much to be 
relied on as those more gradual, which have been brought 
about by deliberate reflection and consideration; for the 
subjects of sudden conversions may not know what spirit 
they are of, till they have time to try the spirits, whether they 
be of God. The fruits of a good spirit are love, joy, peace, 
gentleness, humility, meekness, goodness, faith, hope, tem- 
perance, &c; the greatest of all, charity. I believe that 
there are some good people in all denominations of Chris- 
tians, and that, at the last day, a great multitude, which no 
man can number, of all nations and kindreds and people 
and tongues, will stand before the throne of God, clothed 
with white robes, and palms of victory in their hands. I 
believe that those who have no rule but the dim light of 
nature are a law unto themselves, their consciences approv- 
ing or disapproving of their conduct, and that they will be 
judged accordingly. 

But we who enjoy the Bible are bound to make this the 
rule of our faith and practice; and by this book we shall be 
finally judged. I believe that the final judgment will be in 
perfect accordance with this grand principle of the gospel, 
that God is no respecter of persons; but that in every nation 
he that feareth him, and worketh righteousness, will be 
accepted of him. 



A Pastor s Legacy. 



37 



These are my views of that holy religion which is given 
by the inspiration of God. I present them to you for your 
perusal and assistance. It is my earnest prayer that you may 
all receive them, and follow them, so far as thev agree with 
the sacred volume. They are designed to lead you to search 
the Holy Scriptures more diligently, to examine the ground 
of your faith more closely, to prove all things, and to hold 
fast that which is good. I exhort you, not only to search the 
Scriptures diligently and prayerfully, but to read them 
connectedly. Much error arises from not comparing Scrip- 
ture with Scripture. Different and apparently opposite 
passages are to be compared together, and the more obscure 
parts are to be explained by passages clearly understood. 
I ask you to compare my views with Scripture, in this 
connected sense. If, at first, you think that my views 
differ from yours, and that you can find any passages of 
Scripture against the leading articles of my faith, come as a 
friend, and let me know it. I am willing to be judged by 
the Bible; for I make this sacred volume the sole rule of 
my faith, preaching, and practice. By this standard, we 
must all be judged in the great day of accounts ; and we 
must receive according to the sentence which it shall then 
give. 

That you may not be deceived as to the foundation of 
your faith and hope, it is of the utmost importance that vou 
lay aside all prejudice and wrong prepossessions, and let 
the word of God have free course in vour minds. 



3« 



A Pastor's Legacy. 



Finally, I add this exhortation, that you put away from 
among you all bitterness and malice and anger and evil 
speaking; and that ye be kind one to another, tender-hearted, 
forgiving one another in love, and that ye live in peace : 
then the God of love and peace will dwell with you. 



P O E M S 



MRS. MARY JONES CLARKE, 



WITH AN 



INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. 




"Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, 
The truth to flesh and sense unknown, 
That Life is ever lord of Death, 
And Love can never lose its own?" — Whittier. 




PREFACE. 



THE annexed sketch of the life and character of Mrs. 
Clarke is substantially the same as that which ap- 
peared in the "Christian Register" for May 26, 1866. It 
was prepared by the Rev. Andrew Bigelow, D.D., whose 
acquaintance with her embraced a period of more than thirty 
years. 

The Poems which follow the sketch are selected from 
Mrs. Clarke's manuscripts. They are her most fitting 
memorial. She was gifted with a fine poetic nature, and 
found her keenest enjoyment in poetic studies. She was 
familiar with the writings of the best English and American 
poets. When oppressed by care and anxiety, she would 
fly for refuge and relief to some favorite author. She 
was also fond of her pen, and composed with facility. 
Her deepest feelings, both- of sorrow and joy, often found 
expression in poetry. She never intruded her writings upon 

6 



4 2 



Preface. 



the public. Only a few of them have been published. Her 
family and friends, however, often besieged her for a " piece 
of poetry;" a request to which she occasionally acceded. 
Most who knew her intimately will recognize the subjoined 
Poems as familiar friends. May they aid in keeping her 
memory fresh and green in the hearts of those who loved 
and cherished her! 

E. H. C. 



MEMOIR 

OF 

MARY JONES CLARKE. 



ARY JONES CLARKE, second wife of Rev. Pitt 



.IV A Clarke, was the daughter of Dr. Jeremy Stimson, of 
Hopkinton, Mass. She was born in that place, March 24, 
1785. She died in Providence, R.L, at the house of her 
son, George L. Clarke, Esq., May 1, 1866, at the advanced 
age of eighty-one years and two months. 

The incidents in the life of Mrs. Clarke, beyond the 
ordinary experience of humanity, were few, and soon told. 
Married from a pleasant home, at a comparatively early 
period, to the pastor of a rural parish whose limits were co- 
extensive with the town, — a husband honorably known 
beyond its precincts, and in charge of youth from the Uni- 
versity, claiming, aside from his parochial duties, special over- 
sight and attention, — she accepted the requirements of the 




44 



Memoir of Mary Jones Clarke. 



station, and met cheerfully the duties and responsibilities 
imposed. On the death of her husband, after upwards of 
twenty years of happy connubial fellowship, she removed to 
Cambridge, to be near and assist in the education of her two 
younger sons. Other youths in limited number, from the 
best families of the city, she consented to receive into her 
well-ordered household; and for fifteen years her dwelling 
was a blessed appanage of the University. In 185 1, she 
moved to Boston, connecting herself with the Second Church 
in Bedford Street, under the care of Rev. Dr. Robbins. 
Thence, in 1856, she went to Declham, making her home 
with an elder brother, Dr. Jeremy Stimson, of that place, 
still surviving to mourn a loss which other hearts unite to 
deplore. Two years later, Mrs. Clarke changed her resi- 
dence for Providence, where, under the roof of a daughter 
peculiarly endeared, she passed the remainder of her days, 
until within a few weeks of her death, which occurred in the 
house of a son. But, during these years of apparent tranquil- 
lity and repose, the deceased was active. Her soul was ever 
alive, instinct with ardent solicitudes for the good of her 
fellow-kind. The churches with which she was severally 
connected have all known and felt the blessing of her labors. 
She was interested for the young. The Sunday school, as a 
potent instrumentality for their benefit, was an object near to 
her heart. She sought its improvement. To popularize its 
instructions, to induce and make pleasing to infantile minds 
its sacred influences and teachings, she turned into easy and 



Memoir of Mary jfones Clarke. 



45 



familiar verse the many answers to the questions in the 
Channing Catechism for the young; a task (no effort to 
herself) so useful and approved, that it has been adopted 
and retained in divers of our sabbath schools, proving alike 
delightful and advantageous to the opening minds it was 
designed to reach. Mrs. Clarke, indeed, by taste and culture, 
had a refined and poetic mind. Some of her effusions, both 
in poetry and prose, have met the public eye, unheralded and 
untraced. She shrank from observation, glad to be useful or 
give pleasure from her quiet seclusion, content within the 
noiseless walks of life to remain unspoken of and unseen. 
Still she could not be hidden. All who approached her felt 
her influence. Of dignified aspect, keen, penetrating eye, 
benignant countenance, and tall, commanding person, none, 
first seeing her, could doubt the presence of no ordinary 
character. Yet there was nothing of hauteur in her bearing. 
She was gentle as a child. In her youth, she must have been 
handsome. We knew her first in the meridian, scarce past, 
— the bright meridian of her days. She was then the model 
woman; the model wife of a country clergyman; a model 
mother, sister, friend. Two years later, we met at the death- 
bed of the dearest object of her love. We were summoned, 
and went; and there at the midnight hour, wife, children, and 
their own " familiars " present, w T e wept, and kneeled and 
prayed. . . . 

Mrs. Clarke, we need not say, was a Unitarian, intelligent, 
thoughtful, and devout. She early embraced the faith, believ- 



4 6 



Memoir of Mary Jones Clarke. 



ing in one God the Father, and his Son the only Mediator. 
She looked to the cross, trusting to a dying, risen Lord; and, 
having committed her soul to his keeping, moved steadfastly 
on in the discharge of life's duties, and patient submission to 
its trials, leaving the darkness of the present to be resolved 
by the light of the future, and the shadowy and speculative 
for the brightness and illumination alone to be had in a world 
to come. She was eminently practical. Life to her w T as 
earnest. The present was her sphere, labor her enjoyment 
in the cause of truth and right; and, for other recompense, 
she looked to the ?f glory to be revealed." Her sympathies 
were large, embracing the poor and outcast, the friend- 
less and suffering of every shade and name. The wrongs 
of the slave were an object of her thoughtful solicitudes. 
By pen and word (none more eloquent) she wrought 
for his emancipation. Years ago, in the darkest hours 
of his bondage, she predicted its sure and no distant 
accomplishment. She lived to see the fulfilment, though 
in ways she thought not of. For she believed in God, and 
that the "Judge of the whole earth would do that which is 
right." 

Wide and warm as were her sympathies, her affections in 
the domestic and closer relations of life could not fail to be 
tenderer and more strong. Her family loves were recipro- 
cated with a warmth and fervor seldom surpassed; and in 
the less restricted circle of intimates she was held in admir- 
ing and exalted estimation. 



Memoir of Mary Jones Clarke. 



47 



Her latter end was peace. It could not be otherwise. 
The final limit was reached by a gradual and protracted 
decline. Her exit was serene, painless the close. 

" Not night-dews fall more gently to the ground, 
Nor weary, worn-out winds expire so soft. 



"Nor mourn, O Living One! because 
Her part in life was mourning. 
Would she have lost the poet's fire, 

For anguish of the burning?" — Mrs. Browning. 



POEMS. 



HYMN 



Written for the Dedication of a Church in Norton. 



OTHOU whose eye all space surveys, 
Who every heart canst read, 
Each dark disguise canst pierce, and see 

The motive in the deed! 
Here we in holy awe would stand, 

From earthly passions free; 
ff While, in the confidence of prayer, 
Our souls take hold on thee," 



This earthly temple, made with hands, 

To thee we set apart, 
And here in faith and hope would yield 

The offering of the heart. 

7 



Poems. 



Nor would we, Lord, while thee we praise, 

In solemn mockery kneel: 
The daily mercies we receive, 

Give us the heart to feel. 

Here may the soul, though drawn to earth, 

And chained by thousand ties, — 
Here may she break her worldly bonds! 

Here may she learn to rise ! 
Thine aid impart, when, fierce and strong, 

Temptations dark assail: 
O God ! our wavering purpose fix, 

When better thoughts prevail. 

Oh! glorious is our Father's house, 

With many mansions fair; 
Nor ear hath heard, nor eye hath seen, 

The glories we may share. 
But strait the path that thither leads, 

And narrow is the way; 
Unnumbered snares are round us spread: 

Lord, save us, or we stray. 



Poems. 5 1 



HYMN. 



Sunset in Summer. 



HOW gloriously the setting sun 
Sinks to his evening rest, 
And hides his glowing face beneath 
The crimson-curtained west! 

How beautiful the wandering cloud, 
When the long day is done ; 

The bright, the brilliant canopy, 
That waits the setting sun ! 

The breeze is softly blowing 
The perfume from the tree, 

And beauty spreads her magic tints 
O'er all the eye can see. 



5 2 



Poems. 



'Tis glory, happiness, and peace, 
Where God has given the power, 

To feel the influence, and bless 
The beauty of the hour. 



Poems. 



53 



LINES 

Occasioned by reading Mr. PeabodVs Discourses on the Death of his 
Wife and Daughter. 



BLESSINGS, may countless blessings rest 
On that pure heart of thine, 
For pouring o'er life's darkest scenes 

Those rays of light divine ! 
When thy sad heart was breaking, 

In sorrow's darkest hour. 
Deep in thy soul a spirit waked 
Sources of unknown power. 



When even heart and hope had failed, 
On every side distressed, 
Thy soul was resolute and still, 
And calm and self-possessed." 



54 



Poems. 



The holy peace that through thy breast 

In silent rapture steals, 
A heavenly radiance pours around, 

A mighty hope reveals. 



Poems. 



55 



SUNSET AND EVENING IN SUMMER. 



OH! tell not of Italian skies, 
Nor of her sunny bowers : 
No land, where brooks or rivers run. 
Can show at eve a fairer sun 
Or lovelier skies than ours. 

How soft above the crimson cloud 
The changing splendors fry, 

And bear a train of crlorv bright 
Far up the western sky! 

A fairer sight was never seen 
By any human eve. 

And when, in tranquil beauty, 
The evening stars come forth, 



56 



Poems. 



And climbs upon the upper air 

The enchantress of the north. 
How deep the spell that binds us! 

The scene, how passing fair! 
Those waving, shadowy streams of light 
Now dazzle and now cheat the sight. 
And seem, like spirits of the night. 
To join in gambols there. 

The living light of other spheres 

Beams on the lifted eye; 
Ten thousand wonders are revealed, 
Ten thousand wonders are concealed, 

In ocean, earth, and sky. 

Surely they err who tell us 

That this fair world of ours 
Is evil, evil only, 

When God has given us powers 
To see the beautiful and good, 

And taste the heavenly bliss 
That pours its treasures o'er the soul, 

On such a night as this. 

In such an hour, no low desires, 
No earth-born wishes, rise; 



Poems. 



57 



The soul, all conscious of her powers, 
Claims kindred with the skies. 

She feels immortal hopes expand, 
Sees unknown glories shine, 

Her native dignity asserts, 
And knows she is divine. 



Poems. 



THE SUMMER SHOWER. 



HOW dark is yon cloud that rolls up from the west! 
How brilliant the flashes that gleam from his crest! 
How threatening his aspect, and dreadful the glare, 
As if ruin and death and destruction were there! 
Now loud and still louder he comes on his way, 
With the darkness of night and the brightness of day ; 
And, trembling, we shrink from the glance of his eye, 
As the giant in grandeur and terror goes by. 
But soon he has passed, and dispersed are our fears; 
The sun in the strength of his glory appears ; 
While lovely and graceful, the beautiful bow 
Bends o'er his dark front with her radiant glow. 
How pure and unmixed is the beautiful blue! 
The rose has assumed a still lovelier hue; 
How fresh are the flowers, how fragrant the air! 
What scene more delightful, what prospect more fair? 
And say, such a scene can you purchase with wealth? 
Oh! 'tis freshness and vigor and beauty and health. 



Poems. 



59 



THE RETURN. 



Written after her Husband's Funeral. 



E came where the footsteps of death had been, 



His breath o'er the home of affection had passed, 
O'er the silent room, the deserted hearth, 
And chilled the atmosphere. 

We listened for the well-known step, 

The well-known voice to hear; 
We looked in vain when the board was spread, 

And at the hour of prayer; 
And in the house of worship, too, 

There was a stranger there. 




And he seemed to linger near, 



And now, when night is closing in. 
And cold winds whistle drear, 



6o 



Poems. 



Where is that strong, sustaining arm, 

That all-providing care ? 
Alas! alas! the aching heart! 

It whispers of despair. 

Should want invade, should grief oppress, 
Should sickness, care, and wretchedness 

Steal o'er his much-loved home, 
His hand no more averts the ill ; 
Our joy or sorrow, woe or weal, 

Alike to him unknown. 

And days shall come, and years pass by, 
And not a sorrow or a sigh 

Disturb his endless sleep; 
" And not a care shall dare intrude, 
To break the marble solitude, 

So peaceful and so deep." 

And yet there is a brighter view, 
Where better, holier feelings dwell ; 
And I can hear a* secret voice 
Whisper my soul, that all is well. 



Poems. 



61 



TO A SON IN COLLEGE. 



LIKE a young courser bounding o'er the plain, 
Strength in each nerve, and health in every vein, 
I see thee start in life's eventful race, 
Fresh for the field and eager for the chase. 
Yet pause: not always does the race belong 
L T nto the swift, or battle to the strong. 
A thousand pitfalls may thy steps betray; 
A thousand unseen dangers throng thy way. 
Life's evils all untried, — how canst thou know 
The countless ills that on its current flow? 
And youth is heedless of its mines of Avealth ; 
Its ample store of talents, strength, and health; 
And golden opportunities, that rise 
To make it useful, happy, good, and wise. 
Fearless of danger, confident and bold, 
Not half the ills that throng thee can be told. 



62 



Poems. 



Oh! then, beware, reason and conscience hear; 
The "still small voice" of God within revere; 
Or lost to virtue, lost to health and fame, 
You fall where many mightier have been slain. 



Poems. 



63 



A PRAYER. 



OD of the good and happy, hear my prayer, 
-J And take my much-loved children to thy care. 
Save them from sin and suffering; let me still 
Have power to shield and shelter them from ill - 
To make fair virtue's path attractive seem. 
Teach them that youth is passing like a dream; 
And early fix their views on that bright shore, 
Where sin and sorrow shall invade no more. 



6 4 



Poems. 



THANKSGIVING OFFERING. 

Written for a Family Gathering. 



WE'LL leave awhile life's wasting cares, 
Its sorrows, toil, and strife, 
For love, the sweetest flower that blooms 

Upon the tree of life, 
The treasure of the infant's heart, 

Youth's most delicious dream, 
The crown of manhood, joy of age, 
Its brightest, holiest beam. 

O Love and Hope, bright beings sent 

To cheer our path below! 
What were this world without your light, 

Or that to which we go? 
Assembled at affection's call, 

United heart and hand, 
Thy blessing, Father, we implore 

On this, our little band. 



Poems. 



65 



The widow and the fatherless, 

The mother and the child, 
Manhood mature, and thoughtless youth, 

And childhood laughing wild, 
All gathered round the festive board, 

Their various offerings pour, 
And bless thee for the mercies past, 

And for the joys in store. 

Bright hopes — a never-fading wreath — 

And cheerful hearts we bring, 
And learn, at length, our dearest joys 

May from our sorrows spring. 
Watered with tears, the tree of life 

Bursts into sudden bloom; 
Part of the fruit matures on earth, 

And part beyond the tomb. 

But one is missing from our side 

Whose smile could always cheer; 
We miss him, as the summer flower 
Misses the sunshine and the shower: 

Oh, would that he were here ! 
And one, a darling little one, 

The youngest of our band, 
Since last we met, a home has found 

Far in the spirit land. 

9 



66 



Poems. 



Though, thickly scattered o'er our path, 

Sorrows and cares are strown, — 
Thanks be to God! life's deepest woes 

Our souls have never known. 
What though our days glide swiftly by, 

And life has ills untold, 
We'll keep our feelings fresh and warm, 

Nor let our hearts grow old. 



Poems. 



67 



THOUGHTS OF THE LOVED AND LOST. 



ONCE I had hoped, — that hope how vain ! — 
Had hoped to see thee stand, 
Honored and loved, amongst the good 
And gifted of the land. 

How strangely sad all things appear! 

Where shall I seek relief ? 
The very atmosphere I breathe 

Seems heavy now with grief. 

Far on life's outward boundary, 

With beating heart I stand: 
Behind me lies a desert waste ; 

Before, an unknown land. 



68 



Poems. 



Dark clouds are gathering round my path, 

Death shadows flitting by; 
While voices from the spirit world 

Seem calling me on high. 

Not here thy rest, they seem to say; 

Oh! seek not here for bliss: 
The soul's true rest cannot be found 

In such a world as this. 

I'm sick at heart and weary; 

My spirit sighs for rest, 
To be where happy beings dwell, — 

A blest one with the blest. 



Poems. 



6q 



WANT OF SYMPATHY. 



OH! did they know the magic power 
Kind looks and words impart. 
Know all the power to bless that lies 
In every human heart, — 

One-half the. ills that bind us down 

With such a heavy chain 
Would be unfelt, and of the rest 

We little should complain. 

Our pain would almost turn to bliss, 

To joy our sorrow turn. 
And we, though suffering and distrest. 

Almost forget to mourn. 



7° 



Poems. 



Take sunshine from the flower, 
Take blossoms from the tree, — 

Where its fragrance, where its fruit, 
Where will its beauty, be? 

Even such is woman's heart, — 
A drooping, blasted thing, — 

Without the sunshine of a smile, 
And love's protecting wing. 



Poems. 



7 1 



DESPOXDEXXY. 



THROUGH this sad, varying scene of life. 
Of weariness and pain. 
Where some bright glimpses meet the eve. 
Then all is dark again: 

Through sorrows that have passed away. 

But left their sting behind ; 
O'er blighted hopes and buried joys. — 

My weary way I wind. 

The flowers will never bloom as sweet. 

Birds never sing again. 
As when, in early, happier days, 

I listened to their strain. 



Poems. 



My heart is like a broken harp, 

A tuneless, ruined thing, 
Though sometimes music, sad and sweet, 

May from the ruin spring, 
Drawn forth by some mysterious power, 
Some wandering spirit of the hour, 

That strikes the secret string. 



Poems. 



73 



THE DINNER, 



A PUZZLE. 



Addressed to the Brother of the Authoress. 



A 



S a number intend to-morrow 
To dine 

With you and your lady, they thought 

That a line 
Might not be improper, that you 

May prepare 
Whatever you choose, that is costly 

And rare. 

And first, then, in order, your father 

And mother, 
And with them will come your sister 

And brother: 



Poems. 



Your great-uncle also, if he shall 
See fit, 

And his goodly old dame, if her health 

Will admit. 
Your cousin Maria, too, means 

To be there, 
With her lively young husband ; a gay 

Youthful pair. 
Your uncle and aunt, too, if they can 

Crowd in, 
To join in the party will think it 

No sin. 

And they trust, after taking such labor 

And pain, 
To taste your Madeira, if not your 

Champagne. 

The company came; all the party 

Were there, — 
Stop a moment, I'll tell you how many 

There were. 
When all had been counted, — aunts, uncles, 

And cousin, — 
Add ten to the number, you'll have just 

A dozen. 



Poems. 



75 



TO MY SPECTACLES. 



I DO not covet such a friend as thou. 
To ornament the precincts of my brow; 
Nor does my nose feel thankful for thy weight ; 
Indeed, thy sight and feeling, too, I hate. 
Sitting astride upon thy gristly throne, 
Thou seenrst upon my sufferings to look down 
With thy large glassy eyes, and to make known 
That they are now more useful than my own. 
Besides, thou never canst a secret keep, 
But plainly say'st to all that I am old ; 
And, tell-tale like, the story wilt repeat 
To every being thou dost e'er behold. 



76 



Poems. 



FORTY-EIGHT. 



AT sober, honest forty-eight, 
I pause upon my way, 
And stop to look around awhile, 
And see how goes the day. 

w Indeed," says Time, " that will not do ; 

You shall not stop nor stay: 
The clouds are dark, the wind is high, 
And yonder hill your strength will try; 

So speed thee on thy way." 

" But Time, old Time, I wish to stop, 

And breathe a little space; 
Besides, I want to look behind, 
And see how many I can find 

That started in the race. 



Poems. 



77 



Thy cruel hand hath swept away 

So many friends of mine, 
That I would closer draw around 
The very few that can be found, 

Nor all to thee resign. 

My youthful hopes, my early friends, 

My better days, are fled; 
And now pray tell me what it is 

Thou hast given me instead. 

My eyes are dim, my ear is dull, 

My hair is turning gray; 
And memory, like a summer friend, 

Now steals so fast away, 
That I scarce ever can believe 

A word that she may say." 

" Hush, hush," says Time, "we'll reckon soon; 

And, when I pay my score, 
None e'er were known, or to complain, 

Or ever ask for more." 



7 8 



Poems. 



THE LITTLE BOY'S SONG. 



OH! 'tis a lovely evening: 
How bright the deep blue sky! 
And thick the blossoms from the trees 
Come gently floating by. 



The air is rich in fragrance; 

The earth, in beauty fair; 
While, sparkling in their distant homes, 

Unnumbered worlds appear. 



I wish they would come nearer, 
That I might take a peep 

At all the wonders that are hid 
In the distant, dark-blue deep. 



Poems. 



79 



I love a summer evening, 
So calm, so fair, so bright; 

The cool and pleasant breezes, 
The moonbeam's silver light. 

I love to look upon the sky, 
On a splendid night in June; 

To listen to the whippoorwill, 
And gaze upon the moon. 

And when, as summer wears away, 
And her brighter tints are hid, 

I love to hear the August fly, 
And the noisy katydid. 

I sometimes think that voices 

Are singing in the air; 
And, if I had a pair of wings, 

I'd very soon be there. 

Oh! youth's a happy season, 

If rightly understood; 
And I am very sure that none 

Are happy but the good. 



8o 



Poems. 



HEALTH AND INDOLENCE AT THE BEDSIDE 

OF A LADY. 



V_>^ The morning air is cold, 
And lovely visions o'er your head 
Shall wave their wings of gold. 

Your bed of down, how soft and warm! 

Sweet slumbers seal your eyes ; 
No fears disturb, no cares molest: 

Then, lady, do not rise. 

Sleep, till the sun, with silent pace, 
Has reached his highest noon; 

Then rise to breathe the fragrant breath, 
And balmy air of June. 



INDOLENCE. 




GENTLE lady! rise not yet: 



Poems. 



Si 



HEALTH. 

O lady ! list not to the lay 

That artful siren sings: 
No tongue the countless woes can tell 

That in her train she brings. 

Then, lady, rise: the morning air • 
Your languid frame shall brace; 

Shall give new vigor to your step. 
And beauty to your face. 

The eastern skies are tinged with gold ; 

Rich music fills the air; 
There's perfume on the morning breeze, 

And beauty everywhere. 

Oh ! waste not thus the morning's prime, 

Nor let me call in vain; 
Think, lady, think: if now refused, 

I ne'er may call again. 

The lady heard the warning voice ; 

Her heart was filled with dread; 
Her curtain slowly she unclosed, 

And raised her languid head. 

ii 



82 



Poems. 



With anxious eye she gazed around, 

Then tried in vain to rise; 
While Indolence, with gentle force, 

Pressed down her weary eyes. 

With charms invisible, though strong, 
She kept her in her power; 

Nor was that lady seen again 
In garden, hall, or bower. 



Poems. 



83 



THE GOLD AND SILVER TREE OF SLAVERY. 



[It appears from the date affixed to the following verses, that they were written in 
1S40. This fact, when we consider the history of the last few years, gives an added 
interest to the poem. Mrs. Clarke lived to see the literal fulfilment of the prophecy 
with which the poem closes.] 



COME, all who human rights revere* 
Come, all ye brave and free; 
And let us gaze awhile upon 
This gold and silver tree. 



Its trunk of polished silver seemed; 

Its branches, bright and fair, 
Stretched far and wide their giant arms, 

That glittered in the air. 



8 4 



Poems. 



Around its head bright rainbow hues 

In circling glory rolled; 
The blossoms all were diamonds bright, 

And all the leaves were gold. 

The sap that fed this silver tree, 
And through its branches strayed, 

Was not from nature's fountains drawn, 
In nature's storehouse made. 

Oh, no! 'twas quite another thing 

That nourished every part: 
'Twas blood from human bosoms drawn, 

Fresh from the beating heart. 

In blood its roots were steeped, and blood 

In secret flowed around; 
While clustering leaves concealed the fruit 

That on this tree was found. 

The breeze that waved its brilliant leaves 

Was formed of human sighs; 
The showers that o'er its blossoms fell 

Were tears from human eyes. 



Poems. 



§5 



Come, all who hope for better days; 

Come, all ye good and free : 
And let us see the fruit that grows 

Upon this silver tree. 

It bore a talisman of power 
To turn all wrong to right: 

'Twas right to rob. 'twas right to steal. 
To murder, and to fight. 

'Twas right to sever nature's ties, 

So strong and holy made : 
The mother from the child to tear. 

The human soul degrade : — 

To sell a man. with heart and head. 

A body and a soul. — 
To sell him like a common thing, 

God's imao-e sell, for gold. 

Yet see, this golden Upas tree 
Still wide and wider spreads. 

And over all the sunny South 
Its deadlv venom sheds. 



86 



Poems. 



Wider and wider still it spreads, 

Though rotten to the core; 
And deeper still its roots extend, 

Though steeped in human gore. 

How, for the South, the blood-stained South, 

For this her guilt and shame! 
She sowed broadcast the seeds of woe, 

And she must reap the same. 

Shrouded in mystery and gloom, 
Scarce seen his threatening eye, 

The genius of the future came, 
And raised his standard high. 

And written on his blood-red flag 

Was seen, while waving slow, 
^ Oceans of blood have nursed this tree, 

And blood for blood must flow." 



Poems. 



JOSEPHINE 

Signing the Articles of Separation from Napoleoii. 



IN silent majesty she stood, 
The shadow of a queen: 
How many hearts shall bleed for thee, 
Imperial Josephine! 



And he, thy loved and haughty lord, — 

Why sinks he not in earth, 
To lay on low ambition's shrine 

This pearl of priceless worth? 



No loud reproach, no bitter words, 
The soul's deep anguish speak; 

Though fast and silently the tears 
Flow down thy pallid cheek. 



88 



Poems. 



'Twas not because the diadem 

Was passing from thy brow; 
'Twas not because the fickle crowd 

Would to thy rival bow : — 

Oh, no ! 'twas woman's trusting heart, 

That must its hopes resign, 
That forced the life-blood from thy cheek, 

Thou peerless Josephine. 

A glory circles round thy brow, 

By true hearts understood; 
Not that a throne was thine, but thou 

Wast faithful, tried, and good. 

While thus I mused with aching heart, 

On sorrows such as thine, 
I heard a gentle spirit sing 

This requiem at thy shrine : — 

O woman, formed to suffer every ill, 

For lordly man to triumph o'er at will ; 

To see her hoard of rich affections lost, 

Or trifled with as things of little cost! 

Cherish, as Heaven's best gift, the yielding mind, 

That bears and hopes and weeps and is resigned. 



Poems. 



8 9 



Oh ! happy, doubly happy, 'tis for thee. 



Thy Maker formed thee like the willow-tree. 
That bends its head beneath the tempest's blast, 
And shrinking-, bending, yielding to the last, 

& 7 & 7 J &! 7 

Feels all the tempest's wrath ; and, when 'tis o'er, 
Spreads its green leaves to catch the breeze once more. 




12 



Poems. 



THE OAK AND THE WILLOW. 

A FABLE. 



UPON a green hill's sloping side, 
An oak his arms outspread: 
Divided from the neighboring wood, 
Alone in silent strength he stood, 

A solitary shade. 
Full fifty winters o'er his head 

Had poured their snow and sleet; 
Full fifty summers' scorching suns 

Upon his head had beat. 
And summer's heat, and winter's cold, 

Flis trunk but firmer made; 
In vain the tempest o'er him past, 
Along his boughs the northern blast 
All innocently played. 



Poems. 



9 1 



Within the circle of his shade, 

By chance a willow grew: 
She was a lonely little thing, 
And, watered by a neighboring spring. 

Unnoticed rose to view. 
The birds that sung beneath her shade, 
The breeze that through her branches played, 

Were all the friends she knew r . 

But days passed on: the willow now 

A graceful height had gained, 
And to the wandering breezes p-ave 

Her branches unrestrained. 
But oft her head beneath the blast 

Was bent so deep and low, 
That scarcely could her trunk sustain, 
And scarce her branches could again 

Recover from the blow. 

The oak had marked her youthful form, 

Her unprotected state : 
And thought, in silence as he gazed, 

To take her for his mate. 
While thus revolving in his heart 

How best his suit to gain, 
Sudden a tempest rose, and swept 

Across the neighboring plain. 



Poems. 



The oak his giant arms outspread, 
And, high above the willow's head, 

The tempest's shock sustained. 
The storm passed on, and sunshine now 

And zephyrs round them played; 
When, smoothing down his rugged points, 

His suit he thus essayed: — 

?c Come, gentle one, and dwell with me, 
And my strong arms shall shelter thee, 

And guard from every ill; 
Nor winter's cold shall do thee harm, 
Nor summer's heat nor furious storm 

Thy peace shall e'er invade." 

The willow heard his song of love, 
And raised her drooping head; 

But what she thought I may not tell, 
Nor tell you what she said. 

But soon their branches they unite, 
An intermingled shade. 

And Time passed on : for never yet 

For mortal wight he stayed; 
Nor of his speed will aught abate, 

Though oaks and willows wed. 



Poems. 



93 



One day. as Zephyr passed, he heard 

The willow thus complain: 
"True. I've protection got: but then 

At what a price 'tis gained! 
True, when alone. I often thought 

No one my sorrow heeds : 
But now. by rough collision torn. 

This bosom always bleeds." 

If for support she twined around 

His branches, sharp and strong; 
Or only by the playful breeze 

Her arms were round him thrown. — 
Which way soe'er she turned her head. 

Encountered still a thorn. 
For. hard and bare, his rugged arms 

Now harder still were grown: 
And time had crusted o'er his form 

With roughness once unknown. 
Xo longer now with branches free. 

And waving in the wind; 
Xo longer now. in living green. 

Her fading form we find: 
But torn and battered are her boughs : 

Her glory all has passed: 
And o'er her broken, withered form 

Decay is stealing fast. 



94 



Poems. 



Zephyr, who never sorrow knew T , 

Nor ever tarried long, 
One moment listened as he passed, 

Then gave this parting song: — 

" Good Mrs. Oak, if you content 

Miss Willow had remained, 
You had not met with this mishap, 

Nor this disgrace sustained. 

The oak with other oaks should mate; 

With elms, the elm should wed; 
The willow, by the running brook, 

Should droop her pensive head, 
And, o'er the violet-covered bank 

In graceful ease reclined, 
Should twine her green and pliant boughs 

With others of her kind. 
Think not, when thus the very laws 

Of nature you have broke, 
That bliss the union can attend 

Of the willow and the oak." 



